Pugilism
by Blurred Trickster
Summary: Pre-BL2. Maya inadvertently interrupts an assassination attempt on one of the monks of the Order of the Impending Storm, and, as a result, begins an odd mentorship with a maddeningly enigmatic assassin.
1. I

**A/N: **Haven't written fanfic, much less any type of fiction in years so…good luck.

I also wasn't sure what to title this, just went with Pugilism though it doesn't especially fit the story (for now anyway). My justification is that Pigtail Pugilist is one of my favorite Maya heads and I picture her having that hairstyle when she was younger and in this story :P

Timeline wise this takes place when Maya is around 20-23, with her being 27 when she leaves Athenas if the echologs are to be believed. Haven't worked out all the details yet. Rating might change later too.

Oh and updates will probably be kind of slow due to work and uni. Also because most of the time I'd rather be playing BL2 than writing about it.

* * *

**CHAPTER I**

Maya silently moved through the dim aisles of the abbey library, the light of the moon through the window on the far wall casting the tall shadows of bookshelves over her path. Her eyes skimmed the titles written on the spines of the many books that lined the shelves, most covered in dust. Despite how mundane the texts in this section were, with those on the shelf to her left marked as property records and the ones on the right comprised entirely of religious didactic, she felt an underlying, shivery sort of excitement in the pit of her stomach simply by being there, where Brother Sophis had explicitly forbade her from going. Confined to the abbey for the entirely of her life she took her small thrills where she got them—usually in the form of scaling the wall that surrounded the abbey's garden and exploring the outskirts of the surrounding forest. She didn't dare venture into town, where she would be recognized in an instant unless she covered herself head to toe, which would have definitely attracted a fair amount of attention as well considering Athenas' balmy climate.

For the past few days she'd slipped past the hallways of the monks' quarters into the library under the cover of nightfall, sure that Sophis' insistence on keeping her away meant that there was something incredible there waiting to be discovered. A book on the origin of sirens, maybe, or something that would explain what it meant when the tattoos that wound down the left side of her body lit up for no apparent reason sometimes while she was (attempting to) meditate. She snorted quietly at that thought; there was probably no comprehensive study of siren biology that existed anywhere—in this universe, anyway.

Truth be told, Maya never paid the library much mind up until the encounter a few days ago that had convinced her to start sneaking in. Reading to her had always been an exercise born out of extreme boredom rather than an enjoyed hobby—she'd been taught as a child and since then been presented with a new book every year on her birthday that outlined some type of dogma. Her humble collection contained texts on Athenas' judicial system, the founding principles of the Order of the Impending Storm, and, for her fifteenth birthday, a volume of Sophis' own diaries that detailed his decision to join the Order which hinted, Maya noticed, at his designs on the position of head of the abbey. It was a terribly self-important account of his ascent to so-called enlightenment that she assumed she was supposed to be inspired by. Or maybe Sophis had given it to her mockingly. Though he'd never said anything, Maya knew he knew how much she resented living at the abbey, a life that she'd had no role in choosing.

When she was younger, she remembered telling Sophis one day that she wanted to see the rest of Athenas. He'd replied that the world outside the abbey was nothing she need concern herself with yet, but if she trained hard, she would be fit to explore someday. He'd repeated this promise for years until she had eventually stopped asking. His insistence that Maya, as a siren, had a divine calling to protect Athenas puzzled her. In all her life she'd never had to take any action to that effect, so she had no idea was this planet was so threatened by.

Many times, she considered running away. But what would she do? Where would she go? It was her own frustrating inexperience, the result of her sheltered lifestyle, that kept her tethered to the abbey more than it was Sophis' orders.

And so, a few days ago, she resolved to change. To learn—something, anything; what she needed. Her decision settled in her mind suddenly but immovably during her routine afternoon spar, while she was effortlessly disarming a monk of his staff and immobilizing him on his knees.

The Order of the Impending Storm had nothing more to teach her.

It was after that one-sided sparring session that Brother Harker had found her sitting on the floor in the library, a stack of books next to her and one in her hands: an unpublished, enthralling account of a pirate queen's exploits on a planet named Pandora. Of all the monks at the abbey, Brother Harker was the nicest to her though he was a meek, quailing man, always deferring to Sophis at the barest hint of conflict. When she'd smiled up at him, remarking that she never knew reading could be so interesting, he'd given her a shaky, uneasy smile in return, suggesting that she return to her training, after all wasn't it time for target practice?

The next morning after breakfast, Sophis called her to his chambers for a word. He took a seat at his desk—spotless save for ink, a quill, and few documents in a language she couldn't read—and leaned forward, steeping his fingers together and watching her for a few moments as she stood in the middle of the room, perfectly still and meeting his hawkish gaze, own face expressionless. This was a game Sophis liked to play, and it had stopped unnerving Maya long ago, although her skin still crawled with dislike in his presence.

"Brother Harker told me something interesting yesterday." He spoke after a moment. "He said he found you in the library, and that you've apparently acquired quite an appetite for reading all of a sudden." His implication hung in the air, unspoken but heavy, hardly subtle. Sophis wasn't half as crafty as he liked to think of himself as.

"Yes," Maya replied, lifting her chin a fraction. "I guess I've just never had any reason to be interested in it before." Her own retort, she knew, wasn't much more refined, but it seemed to have the desired effect when Sophis' eyes narrowed.

"Well, how nice to see you're expanding your interests. However, child—" here she bristled in spite of herself, "don't you think there are other things you should be spending your time on? Training, for example?"

"What?" Disbelieving laughter crept into her voice. "I've kept up with my training. I'm the best fighter here! What's the point in sparring for hours with those I can beat in seconds?"

Sophis smiled at her patronizingly. "Of course, your movement in battle far surpasses us humble monks. The members of the Order of the Impending Storm are not warriors. Hence why you're here. But there are things you must work on by yourself…marksmanship, for example. And, of course, there is the _small_ matter of your siren abilities being rather…underdeveloped."

She was pissed. Damn him. If nothing else, Sophis had the power to anger her with a few smarmy words.

"And how, exactly," her voice was tight, "am I supposed to develop my siren powers when I know next to nothing about sirens? Shouldn't I be learning all I can first? I can't train at something I don't understand in the first place."

"I can assure you, you won't find these answers hidden in children's storybooks." He replied, and her hands curled into fists. "You must seek out this understanding through mediation and continued training. Idling away your time in the library will not strengthen your clarity of purpose."

"So you're going to cut me off? Just like that? I don't see how keeping me in the dark about sirens is supposed to—"

"I'm sorry, Maya, was I not clear enough? Let me state this in a way even a child can understand: you are not to go to the library anymore. That's an order. And should you disobey, I won't hesitate to revoke your privileges in other areas, as well." With that note of finality, his eyes turned to the papers on his desk, informing Maya she was dismissed.

Fuming, Maya didn't bother to respond, turning and exiting the chamber. Her blood thrummed with anger, and her tattoos sparked with a momentary glow, causing an indescribable sensation to run through her that she wanted to grasp on to were it not just out of reach. She stalked towards the small, soundproof shooting range that had been constructed for her near the abbey, encountering a few monks on the way who practically dove out of her path upon seeing the look on her face.

Once there she roughly punched in the code on the gun cabinet on the wall, retrieving the cheap-grade Jakobs revolver inside—the single gun Sophis allowed her access to. Storming over to the counter she fired off the whole clip at the stationary target, with only a few stray bullets hitting the head, her mark.

"Damn it," she muttered, lowering the gun.

* * *

A half-hour after evening meditation ended, the somber note of the lights-out bell echoed throughout the abbey. Maya lay in her chamber, turned towards the window that overlooked the forest and the mountain range beyond. Athenas was a beautiful planet, or at least it looked that way from her side of the abbey wall.

An hour later, she swung her feet over the side of the bed, reached for the cloak hung over the bedpost, and stood quietly as a cat, pulling the hood of the cloak over her head and opening the door of her chambers just enough to slip through and shutting it silently before carefully walking in the direction of the library.

* * *

That was how it started, and she had no intention of stopping. While her days were once slow with tedium, they now crawled by at a painful pace while anticipation simmered within her, waiting for night to fall so she could continue her reading. Each night she'd enter the library, retrieve a book that looked interesting, take it back to her room to read, and immerse herself for a few precious hours before returning the book where she'd found it, her place marked with a dog-eared page. Though she was sorely tempted to stay up longer, this schedule decreased her chances of being caught and made sure she got enough sleep to avoid suspicion with her unfortunate tendency to get dark circles.

Her newly awakened love of reading was so strong it surprised her. While her books from Sophis had been painfully dry, these texts were rich and mentally engaging, her imagination enthralled by each one. The first book she'd found, about the pirate queen, ended on an achingly suspenseful note, with the fearless Captain sailing off in search of a legendary treasure as signs of dissent stirred among her crew. She'd next come across an encyclopedic book on the flora of Athenas, which was not quite as romantic but interesting nonetheless—especially the entry on a flower that was said to have spiritual healing properties. She'd yet to find a scrap of information about sirens yet, but she was having enough fun that for now, it didn't matter. Turning into another aisle, her eyes roved over a section that seemed to contain books about firearms—one that caught her eye was focused on the Jakobs manufacturer. She took it from the shelf, cautiously drawing her cloak around the front of her body to conceal it as she made to leave the library.

Back in the halls she traveled swiftly through the darkness, instinct guiding her feet. She was approaching the end of the hallway lined with the monks' chambers when she saw it—a flash of red in the shadows, brief enough to make her wonder whether she was seeing things.

Her question was answered a moment later when she felt a presence seemingly materialize out of thin air behind her, and a blade, shining holographic blue in the dark, was pressed to her throat. Facing a genuine combat situation for the first time in her life, Maya's mind momentarily went blank. Her thoughts caught up with her in the next instant, rolling around in her head frantically and almost too quick to process. Her attacker didn't move, and held their sword perfectly still. She didn't dare swallow, internally working out how to best get out of this position. Her eyes dropped to the blade, and moved to the right where she saw the hilt, her attacker grasping it with both hands—she would strike to the right, then, when it was time.

Her hands were limp by her sides, the book still in her left hand's grip, and all still concealed by her cloak. Her hood was up as well, hiding any clue of her identity when seen from behind. Was she the attacker's target? Had they heard of the siren on Athenas, and come to capture her? Or just kill her?

Her thoughts pounded so loud in her head that she could barely hear the voice of her attacker, so low and quiet her ears strained to pick it up.

"Put your hands up, now. You aren't my target, but I…can't leave a witness."

The words sounded oddly rhythmic to her, but the thought was a fleeting one. Heart thumping almost painfully, she raised both hands near her head, still holding onto the accursed book that was the reason for her current situation. Unable to stop it, she felt the cloak slip like water from her shoulders, baring her arms as she raised them, the tattoos wrapped around her left one glowing a bright blue to match the sword in the darkness. She cursed internally.

There was silence for what felt like an eternity.

"You are a siren. Well, this complicates matters. Maybe I—"

She moved in a flash, keeping her torso angled forwards while her right arm shot out and she grabbed onto her attacker's arm, pushing downwards with all her might. His limbs were thin but she could tell he was unnaturally strong-his arms barely moved a hairs-breadth in response to her force.

Fuck. A lot of good a lifetime of training had done her. She went still and closed her eyes, bracing herself. But nothing happened until he spoke again, his tone sounding almost bored with her efforts.

"Though you're a siren, you are not a match for me, in your current state." And then, to her amazement, he lowered his sword. "This is a problem."

"…What?" She murmured as quietly as he did, heart still racing. Her voice sounded strange and hoarse to her own ears, still shaken.

"Can't kill a siren. It would attract attention. Incrimination."

He took a step away from her. She remained still, waiting, knowing better than to turn to face an assassin. He seemed to be waiting for something too.

"We could be seen here." Maya said softly. Though she couldn't hear anything, she sensed him wordlessly agree with her.

"Where can we talk, then? Lead me, but I'm warning you. Don't try anything."

"I understand," she said, and, after bending over to pick up her book, wordlessly started walking to her chamber. She assumed he was following her, though she didn't hear a thing.

It was only when they stepped into her chambers and she heard the nearly audible sound of the door shutting that she, strangely enough, felt herself relax, though only barely. As if the idea of getting caught was more dangerous than the situation at hand.

She was still on edge, but her heart rate had normalized. He'd said he couldn't kill her, so she no longer immediately feared for her life. But she had no idea what was going to happen next.

She hadn't even seen the assassin beyond the glimpse of red and his arms. He was wearing dark armor, and undoubtedly his face would be covered as well. She stared out the window—there was no light in her room, and thus no reflection of the man inside. It made her uneasy. "Can I turn around?"

A beat. "I will permit it."

Still, she spun slowly, as not to alarm him. His armor was mostly dark, unsurprisingly, his helmet especially so, surface smooth and shiny in the moonlight. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the emblem of a numeral on his chest—0. Her eyes then traveled to the blade that was now at his back—unsheathed, still accessible at a moment's notice.

He was as slim as his arms indicated, and over a head taller than her. He held himself still, almost unnaturally so, and though she had not even body language to judge by at the moment she sensed he was studying her siren tattoos intently. Her hands went to her hood, pulling it down. And his head tilted upwards ever so slightly—perhaps now studying her face. She fought the urge to look away from the blank helmet; the intensity of having the assassin's attention fully on her while she watched him was more than a little unnerving.

"What now?" She said, keeping her voice quiet still.

He angled his head again at the sound of her voice. "I kill my target."

She flinched a little, despite his promise, more or less, not to kill her.

"Who is your target?" She asked, already sure of his answer.

Her suspicious were proved wrong. "His name is Brooks."

"Brother Brooks?" Her eyes widened in surprise, recalling the name of the elderly monk who rang the lights-out bell every evening. "Someone ordered a hit on him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Personal matter from long ago. Extortion…and revenge." He'd seemed to have dropped his vaguely rhythmic speech. "My client left Athenas and his influence, but they still hold a grudge."

She shook her head in wonder. A tiny thought wormed its way into the back of her brain and planted itself there. Brother Brooks was corrupt. Did Sophis know?

"Will you interfere?"

Her eyes snapped back to his mask, her gaze having absentmindedly wandered to the side as she considered. Would she? She didn't know Brother Brooks personally, but could she really just stand by and let him be killed? A dark, suggestive thought echoed in her mind next, in a voice as low and smooth as the assassin's: could she really just stand by and let this chance escape her?

"Not if you take me with you afterwards." She said suddenly, feeling steely resolve gather in her core and solidify there.

His response was immediate. "No."

Her brows knit. She supposed her propositioning skills left much to be desired. And she didn't exactly have much leverage here.

"Then…teach me."

"I could just kill you."

She felt her temper flare in spite of her position. "I've spent my whole life training in this worthless place, and I'm not even a threat to you. I want to leave the abbey. I want to get stronger, and learn."

"A worthy goal," he replied as reached for the blade on his back, and a current of desperation ran through her voice in her last resort.

"Please!" She cried out, as loudly as she dared in the middle of the night. "A few days of training is all I want. You know it'd cause trouble for you if you killed me. A few days. You can kill B—your target, and I won't say a thing."

His hand left the hilt of his blade, and she was bathed in red light: a projection of an ellipsis popped up on the front of his helmet.

Too stunned to say anything, she could barely get out a noise of assent when he spoke. "Deal. I will be back tomorrow night."

And then he was gone. Still in a daze, she didn't even hear whether the door opened and closed or not.

Maya stepped over to her bed and opened the drawer of her nightstand, tucking the long-forgotten book inside before sitting down and lying back almost mechanically, blank eyes on the ceiling. She turned over on her side, away from the window, and closed her eyes, feeling heaviness press down on her all at once. She resolutely refused to relive the shame of begging for her life, the rush of fear that her mind now wanted to process and the accompanying thrum of unease she felt in the assassin's presence, the endless frustration with her own weakness, and, belatedly, the knowledge that she'd freely given an assassin leave to kill a man she was sworn to protect in exchange for a chance at freedom.

The thought that he could be killing Brother Brooks right at that moment was the last one in her mind before she fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope that my characterizations of Maya and Zero weren't too mangled, just keep in mind this story takes place years before BL2…so Maya has plenty of time to grow to more closely resemble the almighty goddess that she is in BL2 (even though she's still one of the weaker characters in meta for raids, but who cares). Hell she doesn't even have her phaselock yet, give her time :P

As for Zero, I took his characterization more from his interactions with enemies than teammates. I know that in BL2 he's (relatively) buddy-buddy with the other VHs, even borderline affectionate I'd say. But he doesn't consider Maya a teammate or equal right now. He and the other VHs act a lot sillier in-game as well, but this story will (probably) be more serious than BL2's tone.

Next chapter: Training starts! Maya learns all sorts of interesting things, like about digistruct technology, and the name of her mentor.


	2. II

**A/N: **An update comes quicker than expected! Thanks for the support to anyone who read/followed/reviewed etc.!

I went back and caught a bunch of errors in Chapter I and edited the most glaring ones. Nothing that has much relevance to this chapter, except for the fact that lights-out is a half hour after meditation, not dinner.

* * *

**CHAPTER II.**

The toll of the wake-up bell resonated throughout the early morning air with a sweet clarity that Maya groaned when she heard, struggling to open her eyes for how heavy they felt.

It was still dark outside her window, of course; a day at the abbey always began hours before dawn. When she woke, her line of thought from last night instantly resumed.

_The assassin_.

The aftereffects of the adrenaline pumped through her system from that event had left her more tired than usual when waking. But she could recall in detail every aspect of their conversation and the terms it had ended on—the deal he had made with her before disappearing into the night. She sat up, noting with some chagrin that she was still wearing her training clothes and wrapped in her cloak from yesterday, having forgotten to remove it before falling asleep. And—she reached over to check inside her nightstand drawer—the book was still there. So she could be sure she hadn't dreamed up the encounter.

She sobered. That meant that Brother Brooks was now most definitely dead. And she was responsible. She hadn't been the one to take his life, no, but she had let it happen. Bartered his fate as a commodity to further her ambitions. If the assassin was to be believed, Brooks abused his position for his own profit…but wasn't that, technically, what she had done as well? She decided not to think on that question for now. She'd made the choices she needed to. All she could do now was go forward with them.

Maya found that she wasn't too worried about whether or not the assassin would hold up his end of the deal. It was nearly impossible for her to read him (though she filled in the gaps where she could), but the man seemed intensely dedicated, if nothing else. Even after discovering her identity as a siren, he was ready to kill her at a moment's notice should she interfere with his job. Surely he'd extend that same dedication to upholding the deal they'd made?

And assassins were all about deals, right? Not that she knew much about them other than the snippets of a hushed conversation she'd heard between Sophis and someone in his chambers while she was walking through that corridor one day. She had been young enough at the time that she obliviously asked Sophis what the word meant the next time they spoke. If he was taken aback he hadn't shown it, and simply replied that an assassin was an especially deplorable, sinful person that killed others, under contract for money or for political maneuverings. He hadn't even asked where she'd picked up the word.

So Maya wasn't too worried.

"I'm probably just naïve," she muttered.

Walking over to her closet to retrieve a change of clothes, she began getting ready for the day and morning meditation. She wondered how Sophis was going to handle Brooks' death, and supposed she'd find out soon enough. Entering the bathroom adjacent to her room, a luxury that the monks did not have, she studied herself in the mirror. No dark circles, just some crease marks on the side of her face where it'd been resting against the cloak. She rubbed at her cheek with the heel of her hand and then leaned over the sink's basin, turning on the tap and splashing cool water on her face.

How easy it was to go through her morning routine as if this were a day like any other. Just yesterday, the most thrilling thing on the horizon was a nightly trip to the library.

Exiting her chambers, she headed for the meditation hall, anticipation singing in her blood.

* * *

At breakfast, after the sacred silence of meditation and morning exercises, Maya mentally prepared herself to react with appropriate shock and dismay when Sophis made the announcement of Brooks' death. She didn't expect him to go into detail on the circumstances surrounding his death, and she knew that none of the monks would ask about it even if they did wonder. And Brooks was an old man, after all. Sophis wouldn't have to come up with a reason for his passing.

But breakfast came and went, and there was no announcement. As always she took her meal in the dining hall with the monks although it was clear they didn't consider her as one of them, and didn't even catch any whisperings about it. She dared to glance over at Sophis once or twice, but detected nothing out of the ordinary in his countenance at all. He was, right down to his posture, the picture of calm.

Even when breakfast passed without incident, Maya still half-expected Sophis to approach her personally, or call for her in his chambers. But he said nothing, and she went through the motions of afternoon sparring present only in body, not mind. Why was he covering it up? Sure, he kept many things secret from her, as evidenced from his forbidding she go to the library anymore, but he wasn't shy about reprimanding her in the slightest. He was hell-bent on treating her as a child, after all, and neglecting to uphold her so-called divine duty to Athenas by failing to protect Brooks was prime reason for a scolding. More than that, she mentally snickered.

But it was strange that she'd heard nothing. Sophis couldn't be the only one that knew. She knew that some members of the Order had their own chambers, but most of the monks shared living quarters, and in all likelihood Brooks had been one of them.

Maybe there was something going on at the abbey that she didn't know about.

It was a testament to just how caught up in her thoughts Maya was that she felt the sudden jolt of the ground beneath her, breath escaping her lungs in a short huff. Blinking her eyes into focus she saw the monk she'd been sparring with standing before her, holding his staff to her throat and wearing an expression of surprise that no doubt mirrored her own at the moment.

"Er…" She cleared her throat awkwardly as he withdrew, offering a hand to help her to her feet. "Well played."

She felt the curious eyes of the others near them on her, and flushed slightly. When she and her partner resumed their stances once again, she moved quickly, countering her opponent's opening staff jab with a high kick, swinging her leg a full arc in the opposite direction to send the staff clattering to the ground. And though this would typically end a round, she didn't stop there, delivering an open-palm strike that sent her partner off-balance. She kept her expression neutral as she extended the same courtesy he had and helped him up, inwardly berating herself to hold it together.

* * *

The sky had darkened at last, the sunset melting beneath the far-off mountain range and bleeding pitch. Gloaming was beautiful on Athenas, and the spiritual stillness of the courtyard during meditation made the dusk feel ethereal.

Maya had dared crack open an eye to watch this process during evening mediation more than once, and this night was one such occasion. It always stirred the same longing in her, to cover the expanse of land all the way to where the sky met the mountains, to see what was out there. To explore the planet and know it from her own memories, a prospect much more intimate than the ink contours of a map could ever be. As much as Sophis insisted there was no place for her better than the abbey, it only fueled her desire to leave.

The gong that signaled the end of mediation brought an end to the silence, and she smoothly rose to her feet and made a beeline for her chambers. The nights out bell would sound shortly, and after that…

She reasoned that the assassin would probably show up around the same time she'd met him yesterday. She didn't doubt that he was aware of the general outline of the abbey's daily schedule and planned around it accordingly—he would at least wait until a safe time window after lights out. At least, she certainly hoped so.

She reached her room, turning to slide the door closed behind her.

It was then she noticed that the lamp in her room was lit.

Her eyes scanned over the room and stopped at the figure standing in front of the window, facing the view—

"Are you _insane_?" She gasped, at his side in an instant and reaching out to draw the panels that covered the window closed. "Anyone could have seen you! Especially with the light on in here!"

He turned when she closed the panels, but didn't speak.

It occurred to her that maybe she should have made an effort to be a little politer to a virtual stranger who also happened to be an assassin—or maybe it was the other way around.

She opened her mouth to backpedal when he answered, "The view shows forest. I would not have been spotted. You are paranoid."

"One of the locals could have been out there." She insisted with a frown. "And you lit the lamp. Someone in the halls could have noticed."

"Everyone was at meditation."

So he knew that much. "Someone could have gotten back before me," she shot back, beginning to sound a little petulant even to her ears.

"Doubtful, considering how you rushed."

"I—were you watching me?"

"You are out of breath, despite just meditating. Not hard to guess why."

She fell quiet, one brow quirked in irritation, and decided to change the subject. "I didn't expect to find you here, anyway."

"We made a deal."

Maya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I meant this early. Did you sneak in during meditation?"

"Yes, although those circumstances were not necessary for me to successfully infiltrate."

_Uh huh,_ she thought. She couldn't say she liked the idea of him waiting around in her room while she was gone, either.

"You are different from yesterday," he stated, interrupting her thoughts.

She paused, unable to infer from his tone how she was supposed to take that statement. He was right either way—yesterday she'd been caught completely off-guard, on the way back from sneaking into the library, and then suddenly thrust into a life-or-death situation. Although she felt far from comfortable in the presence of the assassin now, her excitement to learn from him did temper her inhibitions a bit. Not knowing how to answer, she decided to simply not give one.

"Where are we going to do this?" She moved on, the tingling anticipation returning at the prospect of the training ahead of her. They hadn't gotten off to a great start tonight, either, but she wasn't about to let that ruin her focus.

"You are more familiar with the layout of this place, so you should decide." He tilted his head. "But, before that—I did come early for a reason."

He faced her directly now, and she instinctively shifted to do the same, looking up at his helmet expectantly.

"Combat is an art. To master it requires…knowledge of theory."

His articulation might have been structured in a way that was needlessly complex, but his meaning was easy enough to understand. She'd been hoping to get to the physical training right away, considering she'd only bargained for a few days, but as long as she was learning something she was satisfied. Fighting to her had always been about composed movement and catalog-like reference to the stances and positions she'd learned at the abbey.

"Ok. What do I need to know?"

It was a very open question, and for the third time she witnessed his helmet light up as the ellipsis projected over it once again as he considered. "The most important thing to remember: In the midst of combat, keep stillness inside of you."

That sounded simple enough. Her spars with the monks were bound to result in a swift victory unless she allowed herself to get completely distracted—like today. Ugh, she could feel the heat rising in her face again, and her gaze wandered to the floor in spite of herself.

"Focus. Got it." She nodded, and returned her eyes to him entreatingly. "Anything else I should keep in mind?"

He vanished.

She didn't flinch this time when he spoke from behind her, although her heart definitely skipped a beat. He wasn't as close as he'd been yesterday, and their proximity and location meant he didn't have to speak as quietly as he had then, but the mere act of his apparent teleportation was enough to set her on edge, spine rigid, and tattoos alighting for a split-second.

"You are easy to read. 'Focus' to you is familiarity. You know what to expect in your training because it's a routine. Am I wrong?"

"…No." She admitted. She'd never really thought about it before, but his explanation was correct.

"The truest proof of focus is adaptation. As I practiced yesterday."

She glanced over her shoulder at him at that, knowing that he was referring to facing a siren. _And I sure put up a great fight as one_, she thought bitterly, half-expecting him to follow up with some vaguely smug comment to that effect.

"I didn't know what to do when faced with that sword," she found herself musing out loud. "No one at the abbey uses a weapon like that."

"Likely; it is digistruct."

The word was completely alien to her. "What?"

His hand went to his hip, and she turned to get a better look as he took hold of what appeared to be a hilt, drawing it outwards to reveal light in the shape of a blade. As she watched, the light solidified into the holographic blue blade she'd been well acquainted with yesterday. The feel of it against her skin was something she'd not easily forget, and she knew the sword was completely solid—and sharp—despite having just watched it be apparently constructed out of nothing in front of her.

Maya leaned in a bit closer to inspect the sword, mind buzzing with curiosity. She tried to recall if she'd seen any books in the library that mentioned digistruct, but nothing came to mind. The blade, she noticed, looked absolutely spotless, devoid of not only signs of gore but nicks on the surface. It appeared to be completely new.

"How does it work?"

"The blade is digitally constructed from the hilt based on a programmed blueprint."

"So this is a completely different sword from yesterday?"

"Technically, yes."

"Interesting…" She straightened up as he sheathed the blade, and hazarded another guess from that information. "Does your disappearing act involve digistruct as well?"

"No."

She waited a beat for him to continue, but he did not, signifying he wasn't going to divulge on that particular topic. At least not yet.

In the lull in their conversation, a lonely note rang out: the lights out bell at last. Neither of the two reacted to the sound, but the atmosphere in the room changed.

It was Maya who spoke first: "We can go to the forest my room overlooks. No one from town is around there at this time of night, and if we go in just deep enough, no one watching from the abbey would be able to see us either."

That last qualifier couldn't have escaped his notice. Maybe she really was paranoid. But growing up here, she had full reason to be.

* * *

Ten minutes later found them leaving the abbey grounds, walking towards the forest. Maya had wanted to wait a little longer to be safe, but the assassin was unshakably confident in his ability of stealth. Maya was less so—she didn't exactly do this for a living—but followed him nonetheless, willing to ignore her cautions for just these few days. The night air was warm and a light wind from the south rustled through the trees, a pleasant divergence from the heavy silence that weighed down so often in day-to-day life at the abbey. She had made this trip a few times on her own while feeling particularly adventurous, and were it not for the assassin walking beside her she could have easily believed she was alone this time as well: he made no sound at all. It was a bit disconcerting.

"Here?" She came to a halt when she saw he had stopped walking, and looked around. They had come to an area where the trees were not very densely spaced, giving them enough room to maneuver in but still hiding them from sight to those watching the forest from outside it.

"Looks good," She agreed. "So, um…" Dropping into her fighting stance—feet spread apart and arms bent, palms open—she faced him expectantly. He didn't move, and she sensed he was staring at her with a vague sense of curiosity.

Maya felt a bit foolish, but didn't break her stance. "What?" She asked, defensiveness creeping into her tone.

"That's your position? It does not suit you at all. Pick something different."

The tips of her ears burned. "This is the only one I know."

"They taught you only one?"

The flush of her shame receding, the corner of her mouth quirked into a smirk at the semblance of commiseration she picked up from the assassin. "Pathetic, huh?"

"Yes. A waste of potential."

Maya was surprised for a moment to hear that, until she remembered she was a siren and within this fact was doubtless the potential he mentioned.

"Think of what you value in combat." He continued, still and dark beneath the patterns the moon cast through the trees.

Value was a strange word to ascribe to what she guessed he was referring to: her preferred fighting style. She had never developed her techniques much outside of what she was taught at the abbey, but thinking about it there was a pattern in her behavior when fighting—motion and disruption. She preferred immobilizing her opponents whenever the opportunity presented itself; this was the surest way to turn the tides of the fight. Her confidence when sparring with the monks stemmed from her ability to control the flow of the battle.

"Motion," she found herself saying aloud, though she had no idea how to translate such a broad concept to her current situation.

He answered as if he had expected it: "Begin with that."

And before she could question him further, he moved.

* * *

**A/N: **Maya doesn't lean Zero's name in this chapter. I lied. The next chapter will almost definitely have some sections in Zero's perspective, hopefully that will let me establish his character a bit :P


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